


skip out on cloud tops with me

by floweryfran



Series: do me wrong, do me wrong, do me wrong [1]
Category: Fantastic Four, Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: M/M, Spideytorch Week 2020, johnny watches too many medical dramas, just idiots. that’s it, spideytorchweek, sue is a homie and peter is A Boy, the usual place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25549783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floweryfran/pseuds/floweryfran
Summary: Peter’s heart is about to fall out of his ass.Johnny, on the other hand, looks cool as a golden cucumber, all impish grin and bright eyes.Sue has her arms crossed. Oh god. Oh sweet death, come take Peter now—before he is forcibly castrated in front of the extended Richards clan.The problem isn’t that lying makes Peter nervous. A good portion of the half-baked bullshit that spawns from his mouth is, to some degree, unabashedly false. It’s just that—despite how accustomed to idle fibbing he is, primary-colored suit aside, he is by no meansgoodat lying. He’s a fucking terrible liar. And now Johnny is here, shouldering the brunt of masking their until-now secret usual place hookups, and Peter really shouldn’t make him handle this all by himself because his hair is sticking up so dramatically Peter could probably fit his hands in the exact places he’d been tugging an hour ago and his rear end has got to be sore. It was not atastefulmoment of public indecency.Was good, though. Real good.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Johnny Storm
Series: do me wrong, do me wrong, do me wrong [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848790
Comments: 46
Kudos: 193
Collections: SpideyTorch Week 2020





	skip out on cloud tops with me

**Author's Note:**

> spideytorch week day 2: the usual place
> 
> ALSO FROM
> 
> from a tumblr prompt: naturally goes along with a white lie you told and cover up for you when people question it. 
> 
> HAPPY SPIDEYTORCH WEEK <3

Peter’s heart is about to fall out of his ass. 

Johnny, on the other hand, looks cool as a golden cucumber, all impish grin and bright eyes. 

Sue has her arms crossed. Oh god. Oh sweet death, come take Peter now—before he is forcibly castrated in front of the extended Richards clan. 

The problem isn’t that lying makes Peter nervous. A good portion of the half-baked bullshit that spawns from his mouth is, to some degree, unabashedly false. It’s just that—despite how accustomed to idle fibbing he is, primary-colored suit aside, he is by no means _good_ at lying. He’s a fucking terrible liar. And now Johnny is here, shouldering the brunt of masking their until-now secret usual place hookups, and Peter really shouldn’t make him handle this all by himself because his hair is sticking up so dramatically Peter could probably fit his hands in the exact places he’d been tugging an hour ago and his rear end has _got_ to be sore. It was not a _tasteful_ moment of public indecency. 

Was good, though. Real good. 

But Johnny’s acting like a pro—better than he ever did in those high school plays Peter dragged himself to when he was trying to prove to MJ how responsible and mature and cultured he was. 

Back then, Johnny had made a pretty shit Prospero and an even worse Seymour Krelborn, mostly because the latter had included singing and Johnny makes Peter question the scientific probability of people really being tone-deaf. (Peter would never admit it now, but he had leaned over in his seat to whisper into Harry’s ear: _God, of all the characters to keep alive, they wouldn’t let the plant eat that schmuck?_ It’s not one of his finer moments. He’s grown and changed since then. Now he’s truly cultured. He’s got an SD card hidden under his mattress _filled_ with pictures of Johnny that prove he’s got a real artistic eye.)

Now, Johnny’s got his eyebrows up and his hands in the air, miming the pole stabbed through the stomach of the woman they’d rescued from a car wreck and flagged an ambulance for. Peter might have even found it sorta believable, if he hadn’t watched the episode of Grey’s Anatomy Johnny is ripping off nearly word-for-word.

“Sue, it was _crazy,_ Sue, it went right through her stomach and out of her back,” he turns sideways to mime it, “like some kind of crazy piercing, it was _nuts._ She wasn’t even bleeding because the pole was, like, plugging its own hole. The EMT said her organs were all pushed around and everything, all out of place, and I said _It’s like she’s pregnant with a pole!_ and the nurse asked me to move, please.”

Peter nods. He can contribute that way, at least. A nice, solid nod. That can’t be incriminating.

Johnny continues. “We followed the ambulance all the way to New York-Presbyterian to make sure she was okay, y’know? We were way too involved at that point. Pete held her hand while she cried, didn’t you Pete?”

Peter gapes like a stupid fish. 

Johnny pointedly pinches his ass cheek, sending him rocking onto his toes while swallowing a yelp, but it's enough for him to press out a wheezy little, “Yeah, yeah, held her hand, yup. Super shaky, a—clammy hand. Nice lady though. Glad she lived.”

Peter then flicks a look towards Johnny, whose expression—miraculously enough—hasn’t changed. He administers another ass squeeze and this one feels more approving, somehow. 

Peter sucks his lip into his mouth and grins around it at Sue, trying for his best _I am so cute and innocent!_ face. 

It hasn’t worked on Aunt May in years. Seems like it isn’t working on Sue, either, if the razor line of her clenched jaw is anything to go by. 

“And why did she end up in Manhattan if you said the accident was on the Verrazzano?” 

Johnny doesn’t even blink before saying, “Her fiancée works at Presbyterian.”

“And you came right here from the hospital,” Sue says. It’s not phrased like a question. It’s a _We all know what’s going on here so won’t you just drop it already?_

“Yup,” Johnny chirps.

Peter peers at Johnny out of the corner of his eye. He’s got a face-splitting grin painted on, all crinkled nose and straight teeth. It’s not really Peter’s fault if he suddenly can’t stop picturing those teeth dragging across the junction of his shoulder and his neck, those eyes slit in pleasure, the sweet little laugh that slipped out as Johnny had finished. A weaker man than him would have it just as bad. 

It wrenches in Peter’s stomach, how much he likes Johnny. He feels stupid with it—even more so than usual, while they’re tap-dancing their way around the elephant in the room—enough to fill his stomach with bubbles and pull an unintentional, ugly snort of a laugh out of his mouth.

Both Sue’s and Johnny’s glares snap onto him. 

Being on the other end of the vitriol of both Storm siblings at once is like being tossed face-first into a big pool filled with fire and told to swim through it, somehow. It punctures a hole right through Peter’s sweet honeymoon haze. Not much scares him, but this does. Seriously. Right down to the marrow and meat of him.

“Yikes,” he says conversationally. 

“Okay!” Johnny says. “Looks like our cue to go, huh Peter? We’ll go down to the cinema room, throw on something fun, some action, maybe, some adventure.”

“Sounds like you boys don’t need any more adventure,” Sue says, her bob shimmering over her shoulders as she looks between them. “Ever.”

Johnny scoffs. “Sue,” he says, shaking his head with an air of aloofness about him, “Sue, my dear, my darling sister, you are simply looking far too deeply into a shallow situation.”

“The only thing shallow about this is your intellect, if you think I’ll believe a word you’ve said.”

Peter snorts a laugh. He can’t help it. They’re a pair of idiots and Sue should be offended that they thought they could ever trick her.

Johnny throws his arms up in defeat. “Pete, you’re a disaster. You’re the anchor drowning me in a sea of lonely, lonely abstinence.”

Sue covers her face with her palms as Peter gives a shrug and a real heartbreaker grin. 

Thems, so it seems, the breaks, as Johnny groans before snagging Peter’s elbow to tug him away, stopping only to fetch a pair of sodas from the fridge. “And we’re off! So off! Deeply, deeply off.”

“S’great to see you, Sue!” Peter calls, voice choked with something like mild embarrassment and something else that only Johnny can wrench from him—something spiced and thrilled and super smug. Something that says _mine,_ and _good,_ and _I can’t believe it either,_ and _God, God, God._

“At least tell me you used protection,” comes Sue’s voice from around the corner. 

Peter promptly inhales half his Fanta into his sinus cavity. 

Johnny hammers on his back as he calls, “Do you really think I’d let this grimy street rat near my privates without him wrapping his chalupa first? Sue, I’m better than that and you know it. No dirty dogs near my buns.”

“Eugh! God, Johnny!” she yelps, but she laughs, and that’s why Peter loves Sue so dearly: she can and will kick his ass with pleasure, but she’s also a total homie.

Johnny cackles. “No more secrets,” he says through his grin, hands snaking to the back of Peter’s neck, tugging him close enough that the very tips of their noses bump. He hums a little. Peter can practically feel his lips vibrating with it. His stomach tugs.

“No more secrets, huh?” Peter says. “Does that mean the usual place is open for worldly access now?”

Johnny’s nose wrinkles. “No,” he says. “That’s definitely not what I meant. We still need that spot. Strategically. But—you and me? That’s what I was referring to, Webwit: us. Peter Parker and Johnny Storm. That can be… spoken into legitimacy?”

A thrill runs through Peter’s gut. Calling Johnny his, no filter? Walking into Aunt May’s apartment with Johnny under his arm? After-dinner strolls spent showing Johnny around Forest Hills—the parks and the diners and the best spot to watch the sun set? Crawling through Johnny’s open window to sit at his enormous dining table, elbow to elbow with Ben and Reed? A row of pictures of Johnny on his Instagram: Johnny with machine grease up his arms as he digs under the hood of a car, Johnny waving to pedestrians from atop the fire escape, Johnny drinking his San Pel with too much enthusiasm and choking? Letting the world know who his best guy is? 

Even the backlash from the public upon hearing The Johnny Storm is dating Queens’s resident bespectacled loser would be worth that. 

It took them two long years of skirting around each other to reach this point—from sixteen and fighting, to seventeen and tolerating, now eighteen and _graduated_ and inseparable. He thinks they’ve earned the right to parade it around a little. 

“You and me,” Peter repeats, smushing their noses together. It’s all eyelashes and warm breath and chins bonking. It’s clumsy and obnoxious and so _them._ “And no more secrets. Let them eat cake.”

“Who’s they? What cake?”

“We’re the cake, obviously.” Johnny’s fingers start toying with the ball of Peter’s ear, effectively shutting down the brain train. “Mm, it was a bad metaphor. I am but a big lump of dumb. Hey, kiss me?”

Johnny’s on him before the words have even left the end of his tongue. He laughs into it, basking in their shared warmth. 

It was a beacon, their place, drawing them both towards something they needed. Two bloody-knuckled kids with crooked hearts and attitude problems. Love and war on that fuckin’ torch. It’s almost poetic. 

Even away from the soft teal flames, they burn. 

**Author's Note:**

> HI EVERYONE IM SO HAPPY TO BE HERE I HOPE YOU ARE TOO!! let me know what you thought!! i promise this is by far the least exciting installment of my spideytorch week shenanigans ;-) things only get more fun from here!!
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @floweryfran! have a wonderful day!!


End file.
